


Scritches

by akire_yta



Series: prompt ficlets [325]
Category: thunderbirds are go
Genre: Brotp, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-10
Updated: 2016-09-10
Packaged: 2018-08-14 05:26:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8000221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akire_yta/pseuds/akire_yta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>nonsexual intimacy prompt: back scratches</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scritches

The heat was oppressive, made worse by the press of the festival crowds, and John frowned as he tried to stop his icecream from melting all over his hand.  “Are you okay, darling?” Penny asked from under the broad brim of her fashionable hat.

John glared at his ice cream.  “My dessert is being problematic.”

There was a put-upon sigh from his side.  “I think it a measure of our friendship that I understood that reference.”

John gave up and dumped the melted mess in a bin as they passed it by.  “Admit it, Pen, you secretly enjoy my nerd shows.”

Penny reached into her bag and handed him a tissue.  “It would just be nice to watch something that was produced after either of us were born,” she noted without rancor.

“They don’t make them like that anymore.”

Penny caught the eye of a passing stranger.  “Tell my friend he is too young to sound so old.”  John just laughed, and tried to take her hand.

She pulled away. “You’re still sticky.”  She leaned into his arm, though, her hand skittering across his back and skating up between his shoulder blades.  The scratch of her nails made him shiver despite the heat.

“It’s summer festival, Pen,” he told her, keeping his hands carefully clear of her. “Everything is sticky, sweaty or otherwise slightly disgusting.”

She rolled her eyes, the brim of her hat brushing against his sleeve, catching and tugging the fabric.  “When you’re hermetically sealed in your space rocket, you’ll miss this.  Admit it.”

“Never,” he protested.  “We’re _sweating,_  Pen.” He looked around.  “But given we are already sticky, want to get some cotton candy?”

“It’s called candy floss here, John,” she corrected as she steered them towards the stall, her hand still resting on his back.


End file.
